


Between the Lines

by Tallulah_Rasa



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Humor, meaning of life stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-09
Updated: 2014-08-09
Packaged: 2018-02-12 12:31:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2110029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tallulah_Rasa/pseuds/Tallulah_Rasa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam, Daniel, and pizza: it's another Tuesday night at the SGC.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between the Lines

_"There's a fine line between a rut and a groove." – Christine Lavin._

 

"Sorry I'm late," Daniel said as he slid into Sam's lab. 

"Tuesday night pizza waits for no man," Sam said, waving a slice in Daniel's direction.  "I started without you." 

Daniel settled in a chair across from Sam and snagged a slice from the box sitting in a carefully cleared space on her desk.  With a well-practiced move, she passed him a paper plate and a wad of napkins with one hand, balancing her pizza in the other. 

"What was it this time?"  Sam asked, zeroing in on a dangling string of cheese and flicking it back into place.  "Tricky translation? Long-running briefing?  A mysterious something that _could_ have been an artifact from the Ancient-Furling-Nox alliance, but turned out to be the galactic equivalent of a stink bomb?" 

"Once.  That happened _once_ ," Daniel returned automatically.  He wolfed down most of his pizza slice.  "And actually, it was Lt. Gregory.  He was having a…thing." 

Sam dropped her pizza on her SGC-issue paper plate and eyed Daniel.  "A going berserk and attacking everyone in the lab thing?  A 'Whoops, I think this is about to explode!' thing?  A turning invisible thing?" 

Daniel stole a piece of pineapple off Sam's discarded pizza, grinned when she slapped his hand, and helped himself to a fresh slice from the box.  "An existential thing," he said.  "He's a little upset.  He feels like he's in a rut." 

Sam picked up her pizza again.  "In a rut?" 

"He feels like he's been doing the same thing for a while," Daniel explained. 

"He's on an off-world research team.  He goes through the _Stargate_ ," Sam said.

Daniel chewed thoughtfully.  "Huh.  I didn't think of it like that," he said.  

"The _Stargate_ ," Sam repeated.  "Instantaneous travel to other _worlds_." 

Daniel got up and wandered over to Sam's coffee-maker, returning with two steaming cups.  "I think it's normal for people to feel a little confined by routine from time to time," he said as he sank into his chair again.  "To wonder what else there is to life, no matter what they're doing."  He put the cups on the desk and nudged one in Sam's direction.  "There are even mythological references to—" 

"The. Star. Gate." Sam enunciated slowly.  She reached across and took one of Daniel's crusts.  He obligingly turned his plate to give her better access. 

"Lt. Gregory was wondering," Daniel explained, "what it might be like to have a picket fence and a spouse and a few kids and…" 

"Oh, _that_ ," Sam said, sitting back.  "A _life._   That's different.  I thought you meant he wanted a different job."  She reached into a desk drawer, pulled out a bakery bag of chocolate walnut cookies, and placed it next to the pizza box. 

"Right," Daniel said.  "Because that's…who'd want to teach?" 

"Or publish?" Sam added. 

"Or spend a week without shooting anyone, or getting shot at?" Daniel said, focusing on his plate, and then carefully arranging bits of crust and a strand of Mozzarella into a glyph. 

"There are jobs like that?" Sam asked, and Daniel looked up and gave her a small smile.  She offered him a cookie.  "So…what did you tell him?" 

"That there's a difference between being in a rut and finding your groove," Daniel said. 

Sam looked at him.  "Pop psychology, Daniel?" 

"Pop music, actually," Daniel admitted, taking an appreciative sniff of the cookie.   "Cassie gave Teal'c a CD the other day, and he asked me to explain the cultural context, and…" 

"Oh."  Sam helped herself to a cookie of her own.  "So, did you tell Lt. Gregory anything else?" 

"That maybe we do the same things with the same people, week after week, because we know who we are, and what we like.  Because we have enough knowledge to make an informed choice.  Because we're not just living in the moment, but building something for the future." He took a breath.  "That's not a rut, Sam.  That's a _life_." 

Sam looked at him, chewing steadily.  "This is about the pizza, isn't it?" 

"Of course not," Daniel said quickly.  "Lt. Gregory is—" 

"I didn't suggest we change Tuesday night pizza to Tuesday night… _pot roast_ , Daniel.  I just said—" 

"I _like_ pineapple pizza," Daniel said.

"Nine weeks in a row, Daniel," Sam said. 

"We took a week off," Daniel protested. 

"Okay, they didn't have pineapple pizza at the place near Jack's cabin," Sam said.  "But—" 

"Twice, then," Daniel interrupted.  "I meant the other time.  When we were…um…" He waved a hand.  "On the planet with the…" 

They looked at each other. 

"They definitely didn't have pizza there," Sam said. 

"Maybe that was the problem," Daniel said.  "Maybe the natives were hungry."  He took a thoughtful bite of cookie.  "It's a good thing they believed that executions should only take place during a new moon.   And that Teal'c was carrying all that extra C-4."  He found a pen and began scribbling on a napkin.  "You know, for a relatively primitive people, they had an impressive jail.  And their linguistic development was clearly—" 

"I was _so_ sure that mission was going to be easy. Statistically, we were _due_." 

"I know," Daniel said.  "You showed me the chart." 

Sam took a sip of coffee and sighed.  "I can't believe I lost the pool again. I was _sure_ we'd be back for dinner." She looked at Daniel.  "I _hate_ losing." 

"Sorry," Daniel said, with all the self-satisfaction of the man who'd won. 

"You could make it up to me," Sam said, leaning forward to tempt Daniel with the last cookie.  "Next Tuesday.  After all, you're compassionate, adventurous—" 

"I'm really not crazy about sausage and olive pizza," Daniel said. 

"Did I mention ticklish?" Sam continued pointedly. "And you know, I found those pictures we took on P74—" 

"I could compromise," Daniel said.  "Half pineapple; half sausage and olive.  Brownies instead of cookies, and instead of coffee, Coke." 

"Diet Coke," Sam said.  "It tastes better." 

"Done," Daniel said.  "See? We're not in a rut." 

"We're rut-free," Sam agreed.  She held up her coffee cup.  "To life in the groove," she said. 

"To life," Daniel agreed as they clinked cups.  

A claxon began to blare just then.  "Every damned week…" Sam sighed, her voice almost drowned out by the overhead announcement of an imminent security breach. 

"See you next Tuesday!" Daniel yelled, and they ran for the gate room once again. 

 

END 


End file.
